


This thing between us

by Mtraverandujar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10050548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar
Summary: The words we speak. The things they hide.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I love Laura and Bill almost as much as they love each other. They are not mine, I just borrow them for the good of my own soul.

It takes her a few seconds to realize he is smiling.

Smiling.

An unfortunate raptor accident which has ended up being fortunate because nobody has gotten seriously hurt ( _a dozen injuries, no fatalities_ , as Bill himself has just informed her). She has spent the last few minutes discussing with him the implications, the least important of which she deems the momentary loss of her already small private space to accommodate boxes, files, and people for an undetermined period of time while the repairs on the damaged areas of Colonial One are carried out. No president has ever had to do with less, and even more is taken away from her now. He has offered her _one of his beds_ : a gentleman's proposition which has actually sounded like an invitation. An offer thick with a meaning as significant for both of them as unintended it had seemed on his part. It had taken the best of her self- control not to laugh out loud, and she could swear she had seen a faint blush spread on his face along with a bashful smile.

The Admiral and she have moved their discussion to one of the very few rooms in the ship still empty and in good use. Here, she has been walking in slow circles (not even a chair available, this room is certainly bare), the movement of her legs fueling that of her mind, going over the details of the strike for a while, openly sharing her thoughts with him, thinking aloud as she has found out she can only do either in his company, or alone.

As she turns around and looks back at him the flood of her thoughts comes to an abrupt halt.

He is smiling. He is almost staring at her and it becomes apparent that he has not been listening. Instead, he has been following her with his eyes, his thoughts evidently very far from her arguments. He has done anything but follow her line of reasoning; he probably has not processed a single line of all she has been saying. Not a single word.

And he is actually smiling.

She stops mid- sentence, fixes her glance on him.

"What?"

The question is gentle and she does not seem upset but her tone demands a prompt, honest answer. He lowers her gaze, shakes his head, quietly shrugs off a discomfort at being caught which is not such, not really.

"Nothing. It's just… It's good to see you are OK."

Slowly, he meets her eyes again, lets her draw her own conclusions from the impossible shine that relief and happiness put there at the evidence that tragedy has spared her once more. She smiles and her shoulders slump down into a more relaxed, less rigid posture. After years of watching her daily, he can accurately read her body language. Even before she speaks, he knows she is going to say she is grateful. For his words, to the universe, of that he is not sure. Maybe both, a little bit of each.

"I am. We all are, thank the Gods."

Her voice comes out quietly, almost as an afterthought; as in deep reflection of a truth she has not even taken the time to acknowledge so far. Suddenly, he knows he is about to set a different mood. He needs to do so. He is done. He is so done he cannot figure out how he has come this far cheating on himself, how much longer he was eventually ready to wait. He looks at her in earnest. As his eyes flicker, his tone shifts to a graver note.

"I was mad with worry, Laura. After all we have been through I could not believe I might have lost you in a stupid raptor accident on a manoeuver performed by my own crew."

 _I might have lost you_. Such a meaningful word choice. Her features soften. The hint of a smile dances across her lips and puts a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Laura Roslin's sense of humor filters through the cracks quickly opening in Madame President's façade.

"I have survived the holocaust, terminal cancer, New Caprica… By now you should have noticed that getting rid of me is not that easy."

And now, just like that, she is flirting. Almost. Again. Just like she did a few days ago when they discussed New Caprica and a certain type of hypothetical decisions. Her tone is soft, meaning it is dangerous. But not to him. Not anymore. Her softness addressed at him is never a threat, but a promise. He chuckles and plays along.

"Yeah. It seems I'll have to put up with you for a long time. I'm getting used to the idea."

Her eyebrows rise to her hairline. Both hold their breath and each other's gaze. Almost in unison, they burst out into laughter. She doubles over as tears spill from her lids. He laughs heartily but manages to stay straight and not even blink because closing his eyes would mean missing the whole thing, the whole point of his remark: the reward of enjoying the sight of her, joyful and unguarded, both a magnificent woman and like a little girl caught in his joke, both proud and willingly accepting his playful counterbalance, disarmed and lacking an appropriate answer and yet holding such spell over him. Compared to hers, his laugh is barely a crack in the silence, a muffled breath asking for permission, a sound almost nonexistent to untrained ears.

That makes it all the more reliable to her. That is the truest hint to the nature of his feelings.

As their breathings calm down, Laura takes off her glasses and sweeps the tears from her lashes with the pads of her fingers, from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She is still not completely over her laughing fit, her composure not fully regained yet, small giggles bubbling at the back of her throat. In the aftermath of their shared prank, she remains a delicious sight.

_It's worth just seeing you laugh like that._

It is. Definitely.

And there is something else. He might as well share it with her in this moment of sheer happiness because not even an hour earlier he had thought her gone forever and the pain had been unbearable and he had been so, so mistaken once again. Sometimes it feels as if this woman was born just to prove him wrong on so many things.

He does not regret it.

"Laura."

"Yes."

"There is something you need to know."

Just like that, the energy flowing between them has shifted again. She is not quite worried. Yet. She likes to think she just appears slightly expectant as she waits for him to elaborate, to clarify for her what this sudden change to the current light mood is about.

"A few days ago you asked me if I would have settled on New Caprica."

Her eyes dart up before she can even get a grip on her own reaction. Surprise travels faster than caution, it seems. Bill can tell he has her full attention. Good. This is important.

He does not have it in him to keep her anxious.

"The answer is no."

Disappointment tastes bitter as she swallows. It scratches its way down her throat leaving a burning scar behind. Now more than ever, she needs to hold his gaze. She forces herself to. And the smile. Don't forget the smile. She forces that one through, too. She hopes it is presidential enough.

"But I don't think… What really matters here is not if I _would_ have settled, but if I _wanted_ to."

Bill pauses. Maybe he does it for effect, maybe he is trying to muster the courage to finish what he has just gotten started. He looks at her intently, making sure his eyes convey and highlight his message.

"I did, Laura. I just… knew the threat was still out there, somewhere. I couldn't stand back yet or pass the responsibility over to someone else. The risk was too high. And call me a fool but I… I thought you would be safer if it was me on guard up there. But I knew what I wanted to do once it was over. I knew what I… dreamed of. And when the moment would come I… hoped you would agree."

His confession is so poignant she can just stay there, silent and motionless, letting his voice sink in with its load of meaning, welcoming the warm flood spreading inside her chest, noticing how her heart flutters, how the pieces of her momentarily shattered hope are pulled together again by the sheer force of his words only. The stoic Admiral of the fleet had dreams of his own. Dreams which involved her.

 _I thought you would be safer_. She wonders how many people he truly means by the word _you_. She selfishly hopes it is just her.

"I've known it for a long time now." He adds, and it is unnecessary and yet so very sweet.

She bites her lip. She is beyond words. The sparkle in his eyes feels almost blinding. She can look nowhere else.

"I won't hide, Laura. Not anymore. Not with you." He clears his throat, waits for a beat. "I know my duties and I will fulfil them to their last demands but I won't keep pretending when I could lose you any time, on any corner of the universe during this nightmare of a journey."

She can think of only one way to answer to this. His words push her over the same line he has just crossed. The truth aches within her chest. Now she can only speak aloud her will, her vow. She chokes it out.

"You're not going to lose me. Ever, Bill. I promise."

He nods. There seem to be so many forces which could take her away from him any moment but if she says so, he believes her. A grateful smile appears on his lips.

"I'm sorry about the other day. When we talked, when you asked me... I'm sorry I kept finding excuses."

He does not need to be sorry. Not with her, never. Definitely, not for this. Her feet move on their own accord taking two tentative steps in his direction. She sinks into his eyes. It feels like diving into the ocean, like getting lost in an immeasurable depth. No weight, no gravity. Disorienting, yet so endless and so peaceful that she really does not care.

"You also admitted to cherishing the memory of a certain red dress. Said you loved seeing me laugh. You don't hide all that well anyway, Admiral."

"I think I wasn't really trying."

She is close enough to lay her palm on his cheek, moved enough not to do so. He mirrors her actions: he is so used to doing this by now, so willing to follow her example, her guide. He has been training himself on it for years now and he cannot think of one single time when it was wrong.

He strokes her jaw with his thumb, smiles fondly.

"And you meant it, about your cabin."

To think that she had wondered if he had gotten the message, that she had come to doubt if he had fully understood what she meant, what the idea of that cabin truly meant. And all of it is now right here, unmistakable, within his eyes. She has been holding it together remarkably these last days after their conversation, as if nothing had happened between them (had anything really happened, after all?) but now that they have just made it tangible and spoken the words aloud, now that it is clear that Bill not only understood her invitation but would have intended to take her up on it, she shivers.

She was never one to shy away from the truth, though.

"I did."

It is not doubt that makes her voice so weak. She hopes he knows.

He comes closer. His face hovers over hers.

She is sure he knows.

Bill lifts both hands slowly, giving her time to anticipate his movements, to figure out his intentions. To draw back, if that is what she wants despite everything they have just confessed in half- words. He will not push; he will just cope with his longing later if she rejects him now.

She does not.

She does not, and his fingertips find the edges of her jaw, so powerful, so delicate, and trace it softly towards her ears and back again, and his thumb pushes her chin up gently. His eyes bore into hers, then drop to her lips for a second, then meet hers again. He is making it clear, requesting permission. He did not ask for permission to kiss her the day she promoted him, but back then she was dying and there was nothing to lose for either of them. It had been just a gift for her, she had nothing left in her to give anyway, and he was taking nothing from her (she still kissed him back, she still gave him so much when she gently responded, when she let her smile shine over him, his mind counters). Now she is alive, they have exchanged subtle confessions; therefore, there are things to consider.

She does not know how but she has managed to hold his gaze all the time up to this point. Right now, she is no longer able to do so and keep breathing. Her lids drop as her hands rise and land on his chest, barely there, cool and soft like snowflakes. One of his hands slides around her neck, under her hair. It holds her head in place, then brings her closer.

It begins almost as a caress of lips against lips, of breath and air about to be shared. His kiss is much stronger because it is so gentle. Her own lips are responsive, that much she can tell: her judgment is suspended and she feels a little numb but she notices how they move against his, under his, across his, making it sweetly clear that he is so, so very welcome. He makes a silent request to go deeper, and if she did not know him like she does, if she did not know how delicate he can become with whom his heart holds dear, she might have mistaken it for just a different pressure, she might not have noticed that it is a question. Laura parts her lips and lets him in and the intimate connection overwhelms her like a warm flood. And maybe it is the mist taking over her mind but she cannot remember a time when she felt this. Something alike, maybe, but not this. Never this. She would be almost scared, actually terrified, if it were not Bill's hands holding her up, and closer, steadying her as she trembles. He is the one and only source of both her excitement and her peace. Where her hands were just resting, now her fingers grip his lapels for balance, for something solid as he turns her into a whole new kind of liquid.

Bill feels the tremor across her body, instinctively holds her tighter, secures her inside the circle of his arms, against his own bulk, close enough to make her feel safe, gently enough to allow her a space he is not sure she is ready to give up yet. He will let her set the rules: he has already made his point here, and now she is even allowing him to prove it and he is awash with happiness at the feel of her, at how eagerly she welcomes him, encourages him; at how pliant she seems to be in this very moment. Then again, it was her who started that conversation they held a few days ago, the one leading them to this moment, but as much as his barriers are finally down he can tell hers are still up somehow. Like when you dig in the sand until you hit something hard, he notices something hard under these first layers of softness and warmth. He knows her. She has given him hints and he trusts her, he knows how deeply she cares about him, probably better than Laura herself; but it will not be that easy. Nothing is when it comes to them.

Not an issue. He can wait. He will gladly take whatever they can have.

Air comes into their bodies as they part, foreheads pressed together, holding on to each other closely. Twin smiles give light to their features.

"So how about our responsibilities?" she teases, breathless.

Bill brushes his cheek across hers in a slow caress and wraps his arms around her waist. He slips his reply in her ear like a secret meant for her only.

"They are still here. All of them. But this is real, too."

"That it is." She acknowledges, and her voice is half praise and half defeat, half wonder and half regret. It is an affirmation of life itself as much as a truth making her weak at the knees. Both strong and fragile. Just like her.

She snuggles closer.

The instant she is finally in the brink of forgetting about everything else, he pulls her back gently searching for her face. Laura's breath catches inside her chest: he can send the remains of her defenses crumbling, take anything he wants from her just sinking into her eyes. He has slipped his forefinger below her chin, gently preventing her from looking away, making sure the book of her soul stays wide open for him.

He is such a smart, thoughtful reader.

"You're sad."

It is not a question but a statement. There is no point in denying it. Still, she shakes her head.

"No, I'm not. I just… I was just cursing our jobs and our titles for a moment, you know. But I'm happy. Really. I'm so grateful for having you, Bill. Even if we can just have this."

Her admission is so rare. So precious, too, for the very same reason.

"You'll always have me, Laura."

"Now is this the Admiral, or Bill speaking?"

She cocks her head and bats her lashes a couple of times, trying her best to mask her emotion under a layer of humor and not quite succeeding. She can tell that much: he always sees right through her so easily. It relieves her from the responsibility of keeping her own emotions always in check: he is going to figure all of them out anyway, no matter what she does, no matter how hard she fights it. It makes her feel exposed, naked. Vulnerable.

It is a blessing.

"You know the answer. It's both."

She plunges into his blue, loving gaze, memorizes his quiet smile, takes in the beauty of his marred skin, brushes her fingertips against its surprising softness until she can no longer breathe. This tenderness is threatening, overwhelming. It will swallow her whole any moment. She cannot take it anymore: she lays her hands on his waist and her forehead on his shoulder letting out a deep, ragged sigh which is supposed to quiet her heartbeats but fails miserably.

This man is her undoing.

"You were right. We really shouldn't be doing this."

Her whisper reaches his ears from under his chin. She burrows further into him, her actions in open contradiction with her words. She chides herself for her weakness. She should not be letting Laura's longing take over and interfere with the President's duties.

Still she lets her. Just this one time.

Bill's arms pull her tighter to him in response. One of his hands cups the back of her head. He strokes her soft locks and presses a lingering kiss into her hair: such a sweet reward for her reprehensible behavior. She is awash with the sensation. If only they would be as free as their hearts. If only this thing between them would be as right as it feels good.

"Probably not."

She startles. Can he also read her mind? One second later, she remembers her own last words.

"But we can still feel it."

She almost snorts. Feel, he says. Feeling used to be so easy before the fall, or at least it looked so although she is not so sure anymore, with the perspective about her former life that the trials she has endured these last years have enlightened her with. What seemed deep and meaningful back then feels weak, empty and somehow superficial right now and she can just guess she was too lost to even notice it after her personal tragedy, always mastering the art of pretense, of disguising the pain and the trouble that haunted her before everybody else's eyes until they became invisible even to herself. Superficiality suits you well when you have just lost too much.

Feeling was definitely easier after the fall of the colonies and before her near -death, in those first months of her presidency which were by all means supposed to be the last of her life: the devastation of their unspeakable loss still too fresh to ignore the grief, the closeness of death (both her own, impending, and that of many others, so recent) enriching her mind and soul with an astounding lucidity and a sense of mission. Now… now she has gotten used to paying little attention to her own feelings. She has done it on purpose to avoid the risk. But what risk exactly? So far, she has always refused to specify. She has just kept going and only occasionally let herself catch glimpses of a different reality, open to possibilities other than sticking to her mission as the fleet's leader, either dying or otherwise.

Bill's kiss when she promoted him. Giggles over broken pencils. The kids' laughter at school. Ambrosia, weed and a night spent in the best company under foreign moons and bright stars. A miracle night.

And now, in this very moment, she finds herself striving to remember what it was that seemed so wrong about all this. What is there so terribly dangerous about letting herself go, about letting her barriers down? Of course, she knows: their jobs, their duties. Subjectivity. Public opinion. Emotion misleading her judgment. It just… none of all this seems so mistaken or so disastrous in this very second. As much as she tries, she cannot bring herself to care.

She can always blame Bill's touch for this numbing effect it has on her, for clouding her mind as much as it sharpens her senses. He is quickly putting to shame everything she can remember from her previous relationships.

And this is not even a relationship.

A painful awareness descends over her and makes her dizzy as she figures out: it does not seem so mistaken because, as a matter of fact, this is not about their responsibilities. It is not just that she cannot afford losing objectivity, getting too involved. Once again, all those reasons are just poor excuses her inner voice keeps misleading her with. This wave of vertigo has little to do with all this: it means something else. Something she is not quite ready to name yet. Something far more frightening, something she has spent years purposefully staying away from. Something beyond selfless support, easy understanding, warm company, true friendship, even beyond mutual attraction.

Now, yes, this is serious. Now, yes, this is where the risk lies.

Being in Bill's arms, kissing him for the first time like she had longed to do since she was cured, feeling him caress her, hearing his confession, has made it all crystal clear to her. True, this is not the first time she is held by him. He did so too, that night on New Caprica, and she was not even slightly scared. But back then then she was free, and not just from her office.

She had not just discovered a new lump in her breast that day.

With striking clarity, she understands: she has to know. She will go to Cottle, she will have tests done, she will face this. Because, if this lump means what she fears, she will not let Bill in. There will be too much to care about, too much to handle. And this, this thing would only make it worse. For her. For him. She cannot afford that. She might not deserve any of this to begin with. And she cannot do this to him.

Not with this truth she has just caught a glimpse of.

"What is it, Laura?"

His tone is such that she understands he will just not buy it if she says she is OK. He has guessed her distress. He has felt it, seeping from her bones, pouring through her skin onto his. He pulls her back, kisses her forehead and lingers, like trying to inoculate the feel of love right into her skull to counteract whatever is happening inside.

His expression is nothing short of concern. She cannot lie to this man. She just will not do it. It is not what he deserves, not what she wants to do. She comes a little closer, rises a little higher on the tips of her toes.

And she kisses him.

She replaces the lie she does not want to tell with the truth on his lips. A truth she needs him to understand, she wants him to remember, just in case she needs to shut him out, in case she cannot afford opening this door wider than this right now; in case her diagnosis confirms her worst fears and she starts running out of time and energy over again and she can just be the President until disease and her job drain her from the last drop of life left on her body. Funny how Bill has opened up to her just a few hours after she has discovered this new lump. Funny how life insists on not allowing her even the shortest downtime; how the universe insists on pushing her down to the bottom of the hole from which she can only rise disguised in dying leader, savior of mankind.

She kisses him, makes sure his mind disengages from his thoughts and engages on their contact. His hands circle her waist under her jacket, dare to travel a little upwards caressing the skin of her back through the silky fabric of her blouse.

He anchors her. She feels so safe, so cherished. She focuses on this sensation, aware that she might need to recall it very soon. Saving the best memories to carry her through the worst moments.

She caresses his full lips by the tip of her tongue, drawing their outward lines first, then flickering to the inside and eliciting a groan. He responds; his whole body, heart and mind are here and now. Good. He also might need the memory of this later on. She makes sure he will have it: a truck load of sensations to hold on to, a full package of loving certainty for those low hours which are yet to come, for those moments when he misses her and she can just give nothing. She strokes his cheeks, his hair; pays due attention to his mouth, lets him bring her closer, melts into his loving, intimate touch. She gives him it all, she wants him to have it. She knows he will keep it.

"Oh, Laura" he breathes against her cheek as they part.

She wraps her arms around his waist, secures him to herself. She hopes he does not realize that she is mustering the necessary strength to draw back, that she is getting ready to withdraw and it might not be just from this embrace. This feels almost like cheating but it is actually the other way around: it is allowing the truth to fully shine in case there is no other chance.

She looks up, her gaze watery and thick with affection.

"As much as I hate to say this, we should be back. They might miss us. And we have work to do."

He nods, he lets go of her. His arms feel empty, useless.

Laura tucks her shirt in place, runs a hand through her hair and smoothes her clothes nervously, fearing she might be as disheveled on the outside as she feels inside. He contemplates her quietly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she turns around and looks up at him he holds her gaze.

"Don't worry. You're perfect."

She blushes and smiles. She knows better than to think he means her clothes only.

"Ready?" she asks, reluctantly breaking the spell.

He takes her hands in his, brings them up to his lips and leaves a lingering kiss on her knuckles. Then he releases them and connects his eyes with those shining emeralds of hers. A smile, both coy and stubborn, still plays at his features.

"Lead the way, Madame President."

Laura lowers her eyes and exhales a short sigh, summoning the courage for the final push she needs. She spins the wheel and pulls at the door. He holds it open for her. They walk out the hatch and into the corridor.

They have not even stepped too far into the room. Not too far over the line.

They come out easily now.

 

_**I have noticed Laura was more open to Bill during S3 than she was in the first episodes of S4. I have always felt the relapse of her cancer had played an important role in that. This is an attempt to explore it. Let me know what you think!** _


End file.
